The Underground City (16 page)

“Is
that the tavern?” Bill asked Tallis who was now ahead of us in his customary distance of only six feet.

“Aye,”
Tallis answered, his first words since starting this last trek of our tour.

The
tavern looked like something you’d see in Shakespearean England. It was Tudor-style with a steeply pitched, thatched roof, and cobblestones covering the walls on the first floor. The second floor overhung the first and the black and white timber/plaster construction was reminiscent of Elizabeth I. The tall, mullioned windows and high chimney as well as the sign that hung over the front door which featured a carved glass of ale made it feel like we’d just traveled backward in time.

As
soon as the image of the carved glass of ale registered with me, I turned to face Bill and glanced down at his wrist, focusing on his alcohol monitor. I wasn’t exactly sure how the thing worked—if it alerted Afterlife Enterprises whenever Bill was simply around alcohol or if he actually had to ingest some. But what I did know was that I didn’t care to find out.

“We
are here,” Tallis announced when he marched up to the front door, which was already slightly ajar. After pulling the door farther open and without waiting for us, Tallis walked inside.

“Time
to get this show on the road,” Bill announced with a big smile as he slapped his hands together and proceeded forward, looking excited.

“You
realize, don’t you, Bill, that you can’t drink anything alcoholic?” I asked, as I followed him into the bizarre establishment.

Inside,
it was nearly standing room only. Not being a huge place—maybe four hundred square feet in total, it was very much alive with people drinking, singing, and in general, appearing to have a good time. The floor was uneven cobblestones, but the ceiling boasted hardwood plank flooring that had to be at least a few hundred years old. There were roughly hewn pine tables and chairs set up around the perimeter of the room, although the center of the room was unoccupied. Well, with furniture anyway. It was peppered by a few couples “dancing,” if you could call it that. Truthfully, all of them appeared to be at some level of inebriation, and the men kept clawing at the women, who I later decided were the tavern wenches. Their hiked-up skirts and plunging necklines, flashing their immense breasts, which were often hanging out, were my first clue.

Tallis
was already seated at the bar at the far end of the tavern. Bill strode up to him and pulled out a wooden stool, while I was just a few steps behind. Once he was seated, Bill looked up at me and shook his head, appearing perturbed. “If I have just one drink, it ain’t gonna be a big deal, Butter Nipples,” he announced.

I
shook my head and stood beside him because every other stool was already occupied. “If you drink anything, that monitor will go off,” I said as I motioned to the slim, black band around his wrist.

“’Twill
not work in here,” Tallis stated as he held up his hand to get the bartender’s attention.

“What
do you mean, it won’t work?” I inquired.

Tallis
shrugged when the bartender, who was a stocky man with a bald head and thick glasses, approached him. “The sixteen-year-old Lagavulin,” Tallis told him. The bartender didn’t reply, but simply nodded and walked away. Tallis faced me and said, “We are oot o’ range fer anythin’ belongin’ ta Afterlife Enterprises ta work.”

“Snap!”
Bill said as he nodded and grinned up at me. “So we’ve discovered one damned good thing about this crappy ass forest!”

But
I shook my head at him. “I don’t care,” I said with a frown at Bill. “You’re an alcoholic. You shouldn’t even be in here.” Scanning the room again and the myriad drunk people, I spotted one of the couples on the dance floor now caught in a heated embrace. The woman’s loosely fitted blousy shirt fell off her right shoulder and exposed one of her large, but very droopy, breasts. I faced Bill again. “This is just a bad idea.”

“Shit,
you gotta live a little, nips,” Bill responded, shaking his head in defiance. “We just went to hell an’ back an’ if that ain’t cause for a drink, I don’t know what is!”

Tallis
nodded and the bartender returned. He handed Tallis a pewter cup, which was etched with all sorts of designs on the sides. The cup had two handles and inside it was a dark amber-colored liquid. Tallis nodded at the bartender in thanks as he reached inside his sporran, and placed a pound coin on the bar. The bartender then addressed Bill.

“Whaddya
want, angel?” he asked, his accent thick and very English.

“You
got any specials goin’ in this joint?” Bill asked him and explained when the man frowned as if he didn’t get Bill’s gist. “Like you got any discounts on beer an’ nachos or cheese fries or hot wings?”

The
bartender shook his head as Bill sighed, long and hard. Then he turned around and faced me. “That’s what I call an unhappy hour.”

“Sir?”
the bartender asked, clearly wanting Bill to order so he could tend to his other customers.

Bill
glanced at the strange pewter cup Tallis was now lifting to his lips as he looked at the bartender again. “I’ll have one o’ those, I guess.”

I
was about to reprimand him but, not wanting to play the role of his mother, I decided Bill was an adult and should make his own decisions. That and maybe he did have a point—we were all far beyond stressed-out, owing to our last mission to the Underground. Maybe all we really needed was a little relaxation time—to enjoy one another and celebrate our escape from the Underground unscathed.

“And
you, miss?” the bartender asked as he turned his heavily lidded eyes in my direction.

“What
are you both drinking?” I asked, glancing first at Bill and then at Tallis. When it came to alcohol, I wasn’t much of an imbiber. Frankly, I didn’t have much experience with drinking alcoholic beverages in general.

“Whisky,
lass,” Tallis replied as he lifted the cup and took another swig of the amber liquid.

“Oh,”
I said, without a clue if I even liked whisky. Was that the one with the worm in the bottle? Hopefully not …

“Sweetcheeks
will have one too,” Bill piped up, facing the bartender. That was when I discovered that I’d failed to remember my purse on this little mission to the Underground. Therefore, I had no way of paying for anything.

“Actually,
I’m okay,” I said as I waved my hand dismissively before looking at Bill. “We don’t have any money,” I said in a low voice. I wasn’t sure how we would pay for Bill’s whisky, but figured Tallis would have to cover for Bill until I could pay him back.

Tallis
tapped his hand against the counter to get the bartender’s attention. “Bring the lass a whisky,” he announced.

“But,
Tallis,” I started.

He
shook his head, interrupting me, and faced the bartender again. “Dalwhinnie fer the lass,” he said to the man. The bartender nodded and Tallis placed two more pounds on the bar. I figured the other pound was to pay for Bill’s drink. The bartender took the money and approached the cash register. Moments later, he served two more pewter cups, handing the one filled with a darker amber liquid to Bill.

“Yo,
I need a couple o’ ice cubes,” Bill said to the man as he pointed to his cup. “I like this shiznit on the rocks, if ya know what I mean?”

The
bartender instantly frowned and Tallis shook his head. “Ye willnae deface the integrity o’ Lagavulin by poisonin’ it with ice,” he growled as he lifted the cup to his lips. Moments later, after swallowing the last of it, he promptly ordered a refill.

“When
in hell, I guess,” Bill said with a shrug as he lifted the pewter cup to his mouth and took a large gulp before clutching his throat and coughing. “Disgusting!” he exclaimed as he looked at Tallis suspiciously. “What in the hell is that? Tastes like turpentine!” Then, addressing me, and still sputtering and choking, he said, “Don’t drink it, Lils, I think it’s poison! It’s still burning my throat!”

Tallis
just chuckled as the bartender took his pewter cup and refilled it when he returned momentarily. “Bludy Yank cannae handle his whisky,” Tallis explained to the bartender, who chortled a response.

“You
call that shit whisky?” Bill asked, shaking his head and clearly offended. “I call that liquid death!”

“Aye,”
Tallis answered with a chuckle as he downed another sip. “’Tis the smokiness ye cannae stomach, stookie angel,” he declared before shaking his head with amusement.

“The
peat moss,” the bartender added with a nod before he glanced at me. “How ’bout yours, pretty lady?”

Now
slightly nervous, I lifted the pewter mug to my mouth and inhaled deeply. The smell was acrid but pleasing at the same time. I took the smallest of sips and felt the alcohol burning as it slid down my throat. Shaking my head, I put the cup back on the bar. “Too strong!” I managed before my mouth salivated uncontrollably and my throat continued to burn.

Tallis
laughed as the bartender shook his head. “The Dalwhinnie is the lightest o’ the whiskies,” he said.

“Aye,”
Tallis interrupted. “Coot it with water.”

The
bartender reached for a jug of water and poured what looked like two tablespoons worth into my whisky. I lifted it again and swirled it around, hoping the water would dilute most of the horrible taste. Bill stood up and patted his stool, intimating that I should sit there. The contents of his pewter cup were already gone. “I’m gonna go find out if this weird-ass place has a bath,” he told me. “I can’t deal with my own shit smell anymore.” Sniffing his left armpit, he frowned and shook his head. “Save my seat, nips,” he added.

“There
are baths oopstairs,” Tallis told him as he turned to face Bill. “Ask fer Katie oop at the front.”

Bill
nodded before working his way through the dancers in the center of the room as I faced forward again. I didn’t look at Tallis, but at my pewter cup instead, forcing myself to take another sip. “Thanks for paying for the drinks,” I said, still refusing to look at him. Truth be told, I was still far beyond embarrassed over everything that had recently passed between us.

“Aye,”
Tallis answered, downing the last of his whisky and motioning for the bartender to refill his cup.

“I
didn’t know you drank,” I began as I wondered how well he could handle his alcohol. He was downing the whisky like he was afraid the distillery planned to stop distributing it to the Dark Wood.

“Aye,”
he said when he placed another pound on the bar top and the bartender happily took it.

“These
drinks are pretty cheap,” I commented, grasping for any topic of conversation that might interest him. I just couldn’t sit there in silence since my mind reverted to the same thing it had been for the last couple of hours: Tallis’s expression when he caught me staring at his penis.

“Och
aye, inflation doesna exist in the Dark Wood,” he replied. “So the cost o’ everythin’ is as it should be.” Nodding, I lifted the cup to my mouth, feeling ill-at-ease under Tallis’s meticulous scrutiny. “Do ye know what the coop yer drinkin’ from is called, lass?” he asked.

I
shook my head and tried not to cough. The whisky was still too potent although maybe not as much as before. The water reduced the acidity a bit. “No, what’s it called?”

“A
Quaich,” he answered as he lifted it and admired the etched details. He pronounced the word: Kweich. “The Quaich goes all the way back ta medieval times,” he continued, while still admiring it. “The Quaich would be filled with whisky ta offer welcomin’ or farewell dram ta guests.” He looked at me and added, “’Tis the way ye drink with friends.”

“Oh,”
I said, inspecting my cup as I held my breath and took another sip. This time, the whisky didn’t burn the back of my throat quite so much. Either I was getting used to it, or I was getting drunk.

“Well,
well, well,” I heard a deep but robust voice of a woman only seconds before she appeared in my line of sight. “If it isn’t Tallis Black, the Bladesmith!” she finished before sashaying right up to the man in question and looping her arms around his neck as if he was her long lost love interest and she was his necklace.

“Katie,”
Tallis greeted her with a broad smile as he leaned in and hugged her in return. She boldly took a seat on his lap, which didn’t appear to bother him in the least. It bothered me, however, until I convinced myself that it didn’t. “Ah dinnae have ta ask whether ye met the stookie angel?”

Katie
laughed in a high-pitched, grates-on-the-nerves voice. “Bill?” she asked as Tallis nodded. “I sure did. I got him all set up with a hot bath, an’ afterwards could barely peel that boy off me!”

I
believed it. With her voluptuous body, she was probably Bill’s type to a perfect T. She wasn’t exactly a small woman, but I couldn’t call her overweight. She was rather curvaceous with enormous breasts, which she crammed into her red corset above a tiny waist and ample hips. Her platinum blond hair fell in ringlets to her waist and contrasted nicely against her tan skin. Her face was pretty, with high, pink cheekbones, big blue eyes, and a rosebud for a mouth.